The End of the Beginning
by Maisedoat
Summary: Sequel to "A New Beginning" - a wedding night for those of my readers who complained there wasn't one. This story was originally posted without the last few paragraphs,sorry. These have now been replaced - please read again!


The End of the Beginning

When he came into her chamber, he found her sitting on a sofa near the fire, her feet tucked under her, her fingers playing with the ribbons about her bodice. She was wearing something long, in pale ivory silk and her hair hung round her shoulders in a gleaming mass, illuminated by the fire light and the candles on the dresser and about the bed.

She looked up at him and his heart turned over, she was so pale! He sat beside her on the sofa and took her hand.

"You are not afraid of me, are you, Lizzie?"

She shook her head vehemently. "Oh no, you must not think that. It is only that I am, I think, a little afraid of disappointing you."

"Disappointing me! Oh, Lizzie..."

"No, but Fitzwilliam, I know you have been looking forward to this moment with considerable anticipation and..." She broke off and he looked down to see she was pleating the edge of her nightgown over and over between nervous fingers. "I want everything to be perfect for you."

He took her hands in hers and kissed them, first one and then the other. "You are assuming that I have been anticipating perfection, my love, and I haven't. " She looked up at this to find him smiling fondly. "Sharing a bed with someone is like sharing a life. We both have to learn how to do it properly and I dare say we will both make mistakes along the way."

"You have been thinking about this too, haven't you?" She said, her tone wondering. "Are you as nervous as I?"

"More so, I fancy. It is not unknown for a clumsy husband to give his wife a lifelong disgust for the whole business - I want to give you joy, and I know I will probably have to hurt you to do so. I can think of nothing more calculated to dampen the ardour."

She considered for a moment and while she did so, he put his arm about her shoulders and drew her against his side. He was warm and the silk of his dressing gown was cool and smooth against her cheek. She slipped an arm about his waist and he rested her cheek on her head. "There is a lot of nonsense spoken about man's marital rights - if you would rather wait until tomorrow... You must never feel that you must... when you are not inclined... I mean I would rather not if you are at all unwilling, either now or in the future." He broke off in exasperation. "I wonder if a time will ever come when we can discuss this easily."

"I am sure it will. After all, it was only yesterday this conversation would have been completely improper. We cannot expect that to change so soon."

"I suppose not." He pressed his lips to the top of her head. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Eleanor told Georgie about... that is to say, she tried to explain...."

"What we are about to do?"

"Yes, and I fear she neither kind nor particularly accurate. May I ask if you feel you know everything you need to?"

She pulled away at this and swivelled on the sofa to look at him directly. "You need not be concerned. I have not relied on my mother for information since I was eight years old. My Aunt Gardiner on the other hand...." She almost laughed at the expression of heartfelt relief on his face.

"Oh good," he said.

There was another long pause, until Elizabeth spoke again. "It's only that I do not know what you will, what we will do, exactly." She sighed. "It was so easy when we were just kissing."

"Then perhaps we should start by kissing, after all, we can kiss all we want now. We don't have to worry about being interrupted by your father...."

"Or your sister."

"Or my sister. I can kiss you here." He laid a gentle finger on her lips and bent his head. It started gentle. She could taste the brandy and coffee he had consumed at dinner, and opened her mouth to him. She heard him make a little sound of pleasure, at once endearing and exciting.

"And I can kiss you here." He ran a finger from behind her ear, down her throat to her shoulder. She flung back her head as he did so. His lips were warm and his tongue wet. It was not at all how she had imagined - or rather tried not to imagine. Her heart was beginning to race and she felt once more the familiar sensation beneath her navel, half-stab, half-pang of pleasure. She tugged on his hair to bring his mouth back to hers and they kissed for long minutes. She could feel the strength in the arms about her and knew that, with someone else, she might well have been terrified. Here, with him, she felt safe and valued, as she had never felt valued before.

He lifted his head. "Are you ready?" He glanced towards the bed.

She thought for a moment. "Carry me? I like it when you lift me." For some reason, that made him swallow convulsively and clench his fists for a moment. Then he smiled, stood and bending, took her gently in his arms and carried her over to the big four-poster. As he turned to shrug out of his dressing gown, she scrambled out of hers and under the blankets, suddenly shy. He must have recognised the thought for he went round and blew out the candles, leaving the room illuminated only by the firelight.

She looked away as he climbed in beside her and only looked back when he put a gentle finger under her chin. "Now where were we?" he murmured before kissing her again and again, her lips, her throat, the curve of her shoulders, the soft skin of her arms and hands. It ought to have felt strange, frightening but it didn't. This was natural, this was what was supposed to happen. He knew what he was about and she was content to trust him.

He kissed her throat again, then with a husky "May I?" he drew aside the silk that covered her breasts and kissed them too. This was more and better, much better. She shifted beneath him, suddenly aware that her head was tossing from side to side. She arched her back, her hands pressing his head closer as he drew her into his mouth and suckled. A knife-sharp sensation coursed like lightning between her breast and the junction of her thighs and she cried out in shock and pleasure combined.

He lifted his head at this and she stared at him wide-eyed. Then he smiled happily and bent to the other breast. She ran her fingers into his hair and held his head to her breast. She had never heard, never known, never been told... She surged upwards and she felt him nip at her flesh. She knew he was being gentle, it wasn't pain, it was the furtherest thing possible from pain. She ran her hands under his nightshirt, across his shoulders, feeling their breadth - such a strong man he was, her husband and lover. His skin was hot and smooth and she could feel his great muscles flex, moved by some unknown impulse, she ran her nails across his back. He cried about and reared above her, his eyes wide in the firelight before falling on her mouth like a starving man.

They kissed, their hands tangling in their nightclothes as they struggled to touch everything and everywhere, before he at least had the presence of mind to tug at his nightshirt and ask, "Off? Yes? Please, oh please." She couldn't talk but she struggled out of the hampering silk at the same time as he cast his unwanted garment away somewhere. They rolled into each other's arms and both gasped at the heat and touch of the other's skin.

His hands were where his mouth was not and his mouth seemed to be everywhere. She had never thought that the inside of her elbows was a particularly sensitive spot but his lips burned there, her side where the ribs swept down to her waist, and her breasts, always and again, her breasts. One leg was trapped beneath one of his and she struggled restlessly, not wanting to escape, just wanting.

She was past being shocked when she felt his hand between her thighs. She ached for the touch, a strange burning, no not burning, a strange nameless sensation where there had never been any sensation before. She keened between gritted teeth as he stroked and stroked, long gentle passes of his fingers which recalled to her feverish mind the strokes of his bow when he played for her. Then he found - something - and his hand became urgent, focussed. Heat gathered in her belly, in the small of her back, sensation pooled, hot and urgent between her legs, her head thrashed from side to side and she cried out as the pleasure peaked and burst its bank, strange and wonderful, in waves that shook and shivered her.

She seized her husband's head and showered kissed on his face as he rolled over her. She parted her legs instinctively and he was there and he was big, and there was pain but his face.... oh his dear, strong, beautiful face - twisted with pleasure, gasping his love, his gratitude, his sorrow for the pain he had caused, his joy in her and her body. She flung her arms about him and held him as tightly as she could and he shouted his love and shuddered above her, once, twice, thrice and then collapsed, turning at the last second to lie on his back, cradling her against his heart.

She could feel his heart racing beneath her cheek and knew that hers was full as fast. She touched him with gentle, curious fingers - she had not realised that gentlemen too might have hair upon their chests and it was soft, not coarse and wiry and she had thought without thinking that it would be.

Ridiculous to feel shy, but she did and was grateful for the few moments of quiet. "I did not hurt you?" She shook her head. "Are you sure, sweetheart? It does get better, I promise."

"Better?" Surprised, she raised her head to look at him.

He laughed then, and his expression took on a faintly self-satisfied edge. She thought about objecting but decided perhaps he had a right to feel a little smug, just this once. She lay her head back on his chest. There was a dull ache between her thighs but it was mixed in with the left-over pleasure and could be easily ignored. A small price to pay. She was beginning to feel distinctly sticky but was far too comfortable to think getting out of bed to remedy the matter. Another time something might be contrived with towels, she thought, in the meantime there was an awful lot of bed unused, so she climbed right over her new husband and settled on his other side.

He watched her antics with bemused pleasure, enjoying the sight of her naked body in the firelight before she scrambled back under the blankets. There was an encouraging sight for another occasion. Not tonight however, she was yawning and they had both been awake for a very long time. He drew her head down to rest on his shoulder, and pulled the blankets up so she would not feel cold.

They had the rest of their lives before them and at least a third of it could be spent in bed.

"Goodnight, Mrs Darcy," he said.

"Good night, husband," she replied. Which in one way was unfortunate because the mere word found him suddenly and fiercely excited all over again.

It was very nearly dawn before they finally fell asleep.

THE END


End file.
